


To Know an Afton

by JadicusMuse



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Character Death, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24403390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadicusMuse/pseuds/JadicusMuse
Summary: After it all burns down. And everyone has been put to rest. Everyone except Michael and Henry.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 52





	To Know an Afton

If Michael Afton could have cried, he would have. He wished he could feel the pain. He begged God for that gut-wrenching feeling of hurt and betrayal. The kind that clings to your lungs and made it hard to breathe in between sobs. It was the kind of pain he could remember hearing from his mother, late at night through the walls and after every unnecessary funeral with unnecessarily tiny caskets. He was young, he hadn’t known that kind of hurt, nevermind being able to understand it.

Now he was older. And with nothing telling him not to break down where he sat. He wished he could, but he couldn’t. He’d been hurt so much and couldn’t feel any of it all. He was empty, a shelf of someone living. Figuratively and literally.

Michael walked through burnt rubble and collapsed parts of the building, parts of the ground still smoldering and on fire. He stopped in front of a metal desk, bending over and opening an ashen drawer. He rummaged through somehow still intact files and folders, digging to the bottom and retrieving a box of cigarettes. Inside the box were two cigarettes and a small lighter. He pulled out one of the cigarettes, put it between weathered, decayed lips, and cupped it with one hand, lighting it with the other. Michael sat down on the edge of the desk, looking up through the large gaps in the ceiling at the early morning sky. He was sure he could hear birds singing.

Michael examined his hand as he brought the cigarette away to flick away ashes. The tips were either black or showing wiring underneath and the skin was badly burnt. But not like any 3rd-degree burn, no, it looked more like burnt, grotesquely discolored paper. He brought the cigarette back up to his mouth, taking the smoke in with a tired, metallic inhale and then exhaled it.

There was a crunching sound and Michael turned his head towards it, he smiled and laughed softly, “Henry, long time no see. I thought you killed yourself.”

Henry scoffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “And I thought you burned up with the rest of them.”

“That was the plan.” Michael tossed the cigarette to the ground, stepping on it as he got down from the desk, he approached Henry slowly, “Should’ve turned the thermostat up a few more, Mr. Emily.”

“Maybe I should’ve.” Henry smirked, “You’ve worked damn hard these past couple decades haven’t you Michael?”

“I don’t like to brag. I’m just doing what every child does after their parent dies. Cleaning up the mess they left behind-” Michael swayed softly from side to side, “Just with a few extra steps.”

Henry squinted, observing Michael’s face closely, it seemed void and emotionless. He was a shell, A man who lost his humanity years ago, “You’re nothing like your father, are you?”

Michael seemed taken aback by the question, letting it replay in his head a few times before he gave a short and stern reply, “I’d hope not.” The term ‘ _ you’re just like your father _ ’, whether in a good or bad light, never settled right with Michael. He’d been to funerals before, heard the phrase tossed around to the children of the deceased. Maybe that was just another thing he just didn’t understand. The emotions he seemed the most without. He’d never really felt proud of his father’s accomplishments, to him robots were just a way for him to have a big enough house with thicker walls to muffle the abuse going on inside.

There was a moment of silence between the two, no birds singing, no fires crackling, no creaking and moaning of damaged support beams ahead. Just Henry and Michael, amidst the ruins of a trap. Disguised as something so innocent, so childlike and joyful. The place for celebration and birthday parties ended up being just a mass grave. 

Michael finally broke the silence, “What now?” He’d asked that question a bit too much, he was just hoping he finally got the right answer.

“I think we both know what next,” Henry replied in a somber tone.

Michael did know, but he was exhausted, all that effort just to rest. Pain and realization of having to do everything all over again. Trial and error where you know what the results have to be but you just can’t get the formula right. Michael spoke in a whisper, that almost seemed to warble and break like he was just about to cry, “How? Where else can I go?”

“Where this all began, Michael,” Henry pulled a gun from his jacket pocket, “This isn’t going to do you any good.” He gestured to the gun, “I know you say you’re nothing like him, but I’ll give it to you- you’re just as smart as him. You can figure this out. You know where to go.” He held the gun to his head.

Michael did know. He nodded, looking down at the ashy ground. He folded his arms tightly across his chest and closed his eyes. 

_Ten,_ _  
_ Michael realized that Henry was going to be the death of his childhood.

_ Nine, _

After this, no one would be left, no one who remembered him or was alive to keep his memory

_ Eight, _

But when Michael thought about it, he didn’t want to be remembered. He’d always just be Michael Afton.

_ Seven, _

Nobody wants to be an Afton.

_ Six- _

And it’s better off that no one knows one either.

**Bang.**


End file.
